


Five Times a Lover

by Triangulum



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Wee bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:03:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2443070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time was pure lust. The second was to feel alive. The third time was a distraction and the fourth was because they missed each other. That's when it became an ongoing thing. She'd lost track of how many times, but this one was because she needed to prove to him that nothing had changed, that he was still trusted. Of course, everything had changed.</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>Five times Clint and Natasha had sex and at some point, feelings happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times a Lover

**1\. The first time was pure lust.**

Clint and Natasha were in Cairo. SHIELD didn’t want to get too embroiled in the political climate until they knew all the players better, but they did know a man going by the name of Mr. Almasi was making things worse, pulling strings with key players and causing unrest. They didn’t decide to send someone in until he started setting up what amounted to an arms depot for the baddest of the bad. He was running out of a smug little club for the richer in the area that also served as place to meet with clients. 

Natasha was going in with the cover of being a jazz singer performing at one of the club’s special events. She’d work the audience, get close to Almasi, and slip a little poison into his drink. And rub a slow-acting agent into the skin of his neck. Just in case. Clint was posing as a fellow patron, just another rich guy with money to burn.  
Natasha’s dress was stunning, a startlingly, deep blue with a plunging neckline and very little back. With smoky eyes and all that smooth skin, everyone was staring at her even before she opened her mouth. Clint couldn’t blame them. Then she started singing in the sultry tone of hers.

“Rusted brandy in a diamond glass, everything is made from dreams. Time is made from honey slow and sweet, only the fools know what it means. Temptation, temptation, temptation. Oh, temptation, temptation, I can't resist.”

She sang over her shoulder, giving the club a great view of the creamy skin of her back. She turned on the small stage and Clint saw every man’s eyes follow the curve of her hips, the way her hand slid down her body. 

“I know that she is made of smoke, but I've lost my way. She knows that I am broke, so that I must play.” She started slowing descending from the stage, sensual in all of her movements, making every man in the room feel like she was performing just for them. 

Clint’s eyes followed her as she came up behind a man next to Almasi’s table. “Temptation, temptation, temptation. Oh, whoa, temptation, temptation, I can't resist.” She sang into the random man’s ear and Clint saw his face redden and drop his napkin in his lap. Though she sang to the stranger, her eyes were all for Almasi. She turned on those wide, bright eyes, her most seductive smile, and a bit of adorable innocence. He was putty in her hands. 

Her position just happened to give Clint a great view of her legs through the thigh high slit in her dress. The small movements of her hips drew his eyes right to her ass. Clint was sure that it wasn’t for his benefit, but he could definitely see why she was as good as she was.

“Dutch pink and Italian blue, she is waiting there for you.” She walked slowly around the table to Almasi, sashaying to give him full view of her body. “My will has disappeared, now my confusion’s oh so clear.” She was nearly to him, leaning over. While everyone’s eyes were on her ample cleavage, she was able to easily drop a small capsule into his champagne. “Temptation, temptation, temptation, whoa, whoa, temptation, temptation.” Her lips brushed his neck, transferring the poison from the seal on her lips to his skin. Clint felt a slight tingle on his neck, a phantom sensation of what her lips must have felt like. She sang her last note. “I can't resist…”

The piano played on as Natasha withdrew, sending a wink and tempting smile his way as she made her way back to stage. The song ended and she started another. She was his partner, Clint knew her body, but he never got tired of watching how she was able to use it to manipulate everything around her. From seduction to intimidation, she was a force to be reckoned with. Hell, she hadn’t even been aiming it at him and he was very aware of just how much sexuality she was oozing. She was a siren with an enticing call, luring in those who got caught by her song and movement. 

He stood to leave when she’d finished, leaving subtly before Almasi started showing the first symptoms of what would be ruled an aneurysm. He would meet Natasha a mile away in a SHIELD car and they’d drive to the safe house. He was lucky he was able to concentrate on a few things at once. The front of his mind was entirely focused on the mission and the key details, everything he’d need to put in his report and how they would make it out of Cairo safely. However the back of his mind, the one controlled by nothing but primitive desires, was full of images of Natasha’s body as she moved to the music. It wasn’t a dance, not exactly, it was calculated steps and movements, the subtle way her hips moved when she turned her body, her chest heaving with each deep breath, the exposure of her skin in the most delicate parts of her body. It made every man want to run his hands down her back, explore that expanse of her throat she offered when she tilted her head to the side to sing to them. To use those curves in every way. Clint couldn’t turn off that hind part of his brain, no matter how hard he tried to shut it out. Instead, he was getting a certain feeling in his lower stomach and spreading farther south, all because of that deep look she gave him right before she began to sing.

He waited in the car for an hour until she slid into the seat next to him. “It’s done,” she said simply. Clint nodded and drove away. He was trying very, very hard not to notice her next to him, but his body was a traitorous little bastard and didn’t listen. What he didn’t know was that Natasha was having a little crisis of her own. She didn’t tell him, but she’d used her very ample imagination to get into that seductive place. Tonight, she’d used a fantasy of rough, hard sex with a man built quite similarly to a certain archer. When his hand brushed her thigh to shift gears, her breathing hitched, that small contact making her desire spike. She’d hoped he hadn’t noticed, but knew that damn his observational skills, he had. 

The car was suddenly full of tension. With every breath, Clint inhaled more of her fresh, citrus smell. He was drowning in her. Deep breaths, he told himself. Bad plan, he just inhaled her more and suddenly the front of his pants were uncomfortably tight. Natasha was trying very hard to sit still, to keep herself from climbing across the car and into his lap. Her nerve ends were on fire, she was scared to even touch him, but at the same time, was desperately curious about what would happen if she did. She’d felt a mild version of this before, how could she not? She was a woman with a sex drive, and happened to have a very attractive man that she worked with everyday. She was bound to notice him, but never had she been so worked up from just the thought of it. She bit her lip, a motion Clint saw from the corner of his eye. 

He was thankful when the ride was over, but only for a moment. Then, he was following Natasha up a flight of stairs, eye level with the plunging back of the dress resting right above the curve of her ass. He let out a shaky breath that Natasha felt against her lower back. She opened the door, unsure of what she was going to say, when Clint slammed it shut and pushed her against it. His body pinned hers to the door, though lightly enough that she could easily get away if she wanted to. 

She didn’t. Her mouth crashed against his, moving hungrily. That was the all the motivation he needed. His hands gripped her hips as he explored her mouth, desperately trying to memorize her. She ground her hips into his and she could feel just how happy he was to be against her. Her dress was on the floor in seconds, followed by his shirt, pants, everything until there was a trail of their clothing leading to the safe house’s bedroom. 

They didn’t even make it to the bed. Natasha’s back was against the door, her leg around Clint’s waist when he entered her for the first time. She threw her head back, hissing as she stretched around him. “Fuck,” he groaned, stilling for a moment to get used to the sensation of her wet walls, so tight. Nails gripped his shoulders and Natasha started rocking against him, trying desperately to get more of him inside her. Clint was happy to oblige and began thrusting, softly at first, but soon he was slamming into her so hard the door rattled on its hinges.

“Don’t stop,” Natasha panted, meeting him thrust for thrust. His hand snaked between them, finding her bundle of nerves and she bucked against his hand, moaning louder. Her juices covered his fingers in seconds and god, she was so wet, he almost came just from that. Natasha wrapped her free leg around his and pulled him the ground, straddling his hips. 

She pinned him down by his shoulders and moved her hips in a circle and he didn’t know how she did it, but he was going to come apart at the seams if she kept it up. He reached up, cupping her breasts in his hands, massaging her. He saw her swallow hard, and grinned, loving that he was the one making her shake and tremble above him. He drew a nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting and making her thighs tense on either side of his. 

His chest had little red tracks from her nails digging into him, grasping at his chest and arms whenever a spasm of pleasure hit her. She was warm and wet and unbelievably tight around him, then her muscles started rippling around him, clenching erratically, he knew she was close. He set his feet flat against the floor and bucked up into her, driving hard and fast. Seeing his cock slide in and out of her was driving him insane but he desperately wanted to bring her first. He didn’t know if they would ever do this again and he wanted to make it last, wanted her to remember it. When her mind wandered, he wanted her to come back to the feeling of him thrusting into her; he wanted her to remember pleasure.

He gave her nipple a final squeeze before trailing his finger down her body to circle her clit. Natasha threw her head back and moaned clutching at Clint’s arms as she came apart over him. Her tight, spasming muscles around his cock pulled Clint right along with her. He sat up, Natasha still impaled on him, and wrapped his arms around her, yelling his orgasm into her chest. Her arms clutched at his back, nails clutching into his back as pleasure coursed through both of their veins and in that moment, there was nothing but bliss and satisfaction. There were no past demons or mission worries; it was just the ecstasy of her body being filled by him, his teeth grazing her skin, the way his arms surrounded her. 

It was one time, they both told themselves as they came down, shaking from exertion and the remnants of their orgasms. Momentary lapse, they needed release. They were sure it wouldn’t happen again. They overestimated their control.

**2\. The second time was to feel alive.**

Clint hated watching her on missions that necessitated her getting beat up. He knew very well that she could escape at any time she wanted, but it didn’t make it easier to see a   
hand smack across her cheek, a fist slam into her stomach, a vicious kick to the knees. He didn’t like seeing anyone injured when he knew he could stop it, but the fact that she was his partner made it so much worse. The entire point of a partnership was to watch the other’s back. More and more lately, it had been lots of watching her body pummeled while he sat a rooftop away, unable to do anything but watch through his scope.

He knew that Natasha wasn’t exactly a fan of these missions either. She’d much rather be doing a simple sneak in, poison, sneak out style of operation. She didn’t enjoy getting beat all to hell, but unfortunately this was the kind of mission she was good at. She used to worry about Clint coming busting in through the front door, the proverbial knight in shining armor and screwing up the whole thing. After that happened once, she’d make it very, very clear to him not interfere unless she gave him a sign, and he wasn’t stupid enough to go against her. Considering how this night was going though, he was thinking she might actually have to do that.

Eventually, it was clear that she wasn’t going to be getting anything more out of the mark. He lost all interest in talking and was ready to merely beat her until she died. He hadn’t had any violent tendencies in his file. Clint made a mental note to give Coulson a little bit of hell for that. She was in the back room of the mark, a supposed art dealer, aka middle man for organized crime, and strapped to a chair. The bonds on her wrist were, unfortunately, very professionally done and she was actually having some issues getting out of them. She was close when she took a roundhouse kick to the temple, sending the chair she was tied to toppling over. She felt blackness creeping into her vision and tapped her middle finger against the palm of her hand three times, her sign to Clint that she needed him. Before she passed out altogether, she heard the shattering glass of the window and saw the mark fall in front of her, red blossoming from his chest. She had time for a satisfied grin before she faded out.

Clint was in a world of pain trying to get to her. Their supposed low-level middle man had over a dozen personal bodyguards that Clint was sure had military training. They apparently hadn’t gotten the message that their boss was dead and were fighting Clint tooth and nail. He wasn’t quite the hand-to-hand fighter Natasha was, so it took a little longer than he’d like to wade his way through them. The trail of bodies led to the back room where Natasha was groggily coming back into consciousness. The first thing she realized was the knife that the mark had been holding was on the ground in front of her face. When he’s dropped it, it had cut a thin line down her forehead. The second thing she saw was a pair of boots, easily recognized as Clint’s boots, running toward her. He helped her up and out of the chair, threw an arm around her waist and half dragged her out of the mark’s house.

By the time they were back to the safe house, Natasha had recovered and was walking on her own. Clint secured the small apartment and contacted Coulson while Natasha disappeared into the shower. It was part of her post-mission routine. On the nitty gritty, dirty missions, she immediately made a beeline for the bathroom to wash the filth off of her, as if she could physically remove the remnants the confrontations left. 

She still wasn’t out a half hour later, when Clint was finished with Coulson and very close to falling asleep on the apartment’s one bed. He was considering knocking on the door when it opened, revealing Natasha clad in only a towel. He stood up, seeing the now red cut on her head. 

“Sit,” he commanded. To his surprise, she listened, sitting on the edge of the bed, towel wrapped around her body. Clint retrieved the standard issue first aid kit from the room’s lone dresser, pulling out various supplies. They didn’t talk while he cleaned her cut. It wasn’t overly deep, but head wounds always tended to bleed a lot. He completed his treatment with a butterfly bandage, fingers ghosting across her skin, very aware that if the knife had landed an inch closer, he would be busy tending to a dead body rather than the very alive and warm Natasha in front of him. 

One glance down at her face showed she knew it, too. Those eyes of her bored right into him, the most intense stare anyone had ever given him. It wasn’t the worst injury either of them had had, not by a long shot, but it was a straw that broke the camel’s back, not an anvil. His fingers finished with her bandage and lingered, tracing her cheekbones down to her jaw before reluctantly moving to pull away. She grabbed his hands before they could disappear and clutched them to her. Her green eyes locked on his as she pulled him closer. His face was an inch away from hers when she whispered against his lips, “Make me feel alive.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Clint pulled her onto his lap until she was straddling him, his hands holding her in place by her hips. Mouths crashed together and his hands tightened around her thighs. She needed this, he knew that, but he did, too. The way her breath hitched when he grazed his teeth over the skin of her neck, her pushing him back to pull his shirt over his head, the heat of her core rubbing against him. He needed a reminder that Natasha was still here.

He flipped them over, so Natasha was lying under him. He pulled the towel away and let his eyes roam over her body. Sure, he’d seen her before, they’d had to patch each other up all the time, but this was different. His eyes took in her curves, all softness mixed with strength, and he had to touch her. His mouth found one nipple, sucking on the hardened peak, his other hand kneading her other breast. She arched her back into him, head thrown back. She may love to be in control, but letting go and giving that power to Clint made a deep, primal part of her extremely happy. She moaned when he took her nipple between his teeth, body twitching under his. His eyes met with hers and he slowly began to kiss a trail down her stomach, towards her waist. No one she’d been with had done something like that, something so intimate. No target had ever cared about her pleasure, it had been fast and dirty and all about him getting off. But Clint wasn’t a target.

His hands trailed down her sides until they were teasing her thighs. Delicately, he kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other. Natasha was a ball of need, ready to attack him if he didn’t stop teasing her soon. Clint must have sensed it because that’s when he placed a kiss right on her sensitive clit. She bucked against him, gasping.   
“Jesus,” he muttered, feeling how wet she already was and he couldn’t help it, he preened. He’d done that to her, he was taking her apart. He moved his tongue between her legs, drawing small and needy noises from her. Her hand wound into his hair, needing to ground herself to something. Clint’s mouth and tongue swirled around her glistening pussy, plunging into her, dragging her closer and closer to coming undone. He slipped a finger into her and she cried out, losing herself in his ministrations. She’d never let anyone do this to her, never let anyone this close, but in that moment she trusted Clint with it, completely, knowing she could let go and wouldn’t be in danger. Eyes closed, she threw her head back against the bed and he felt her slick walls start to tighten around his finger. He alternated between moving his tongue across her clit and delicately sucking, working faster and faster until she clenched around his finger, coming with a yell and a rush of sweet liquid. 

Her hand was still wound in his hair as she came down, Clint gently massaging her with his tongue until her orgasm finished, then climbed up her body. Her eyes fluttered open, needing a second to focus on his face. Their mouths met and Natasha was so sexed out, there no more fight for dominance . The taste of her own juices on Clint’s lips made her groan against him, the apex between her thighs tightening again, slightly. Then she felt his smooth head against her, gently probing at her opening. She angled her hips up, giving him better access, inviting him in. She hissed his name as he slid inside of her.

“God, Nat,” he groaned, her muscles squeezing around him. “God, how are you this tight?”

Her only answer was to wrap her legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper into her. Clint let out a strangled sound, bracing himself, before slowly starting to move in and out of her. He loved how wet she was because of him, that it was him bringing those noises out of her. He wanted her to come, to relieve her of whatever was her burden. It was selfish, too. He needed to feel her, to know that after all they’ve been through, that Natasha was still alive and whole.

He moved faster in her, her hips bucking to meet his thrusts. He didn’t want to finish until she came again, but damn she felt so good and warm. He groaned and leaned down, biting the nape of her neck, just this side of leaving marks. He’d never asked her if she likes a little pain with her sex, but he guessed he was right when she tightened her legs around him. Her inner muscles began to ripple around his cock and his name fell like a litany from her lips. Barely thirty seconds later, he brought her again, her face in his chest to muffle her scream. It was only another minute or so of pushing into her sweet heat until he came, growling out a string of words that could have been her name, fuck, praises, but he couldn’t remember. 

He collapsed to her side, body draped over hers. Her legs were still entangled with him, her face buried in his chest. The feelings of her breath against his bare skin was the most reassuring sensation he’d ever felt. Feeling her, knowing she was there eased a tension he hadn’t realized he had been carrying. Natasha must have felt similarly because she made no move to get up. In a few hours, they’d wake up and get ready for extraction. They would go about their day like normal; the careful distance they’d maintained since that first night in Cairo would be back, protecting their friendship and partnership. But tonight, he was going to keep her right next to him, her body pulled close. And she was going to let him feel like he was protecting her, because if she was honest with herself, his heart beat in her ear was actually soothing. Though she’d never admit that to him.  
So tomorrow they would be back to friends, partners, nothing more. Because in that second, they both knew that neither could afford to risk that.

**3\. The third time was as a distraction.**

Sometimes missions just go to shit. Everyone can do everything right and it still ends up all wrong. This was one of those times. Fury called those head-to-toe-fuckups. Clint and Natasha had been extracted only hours into the operation, Natasha only with bruises but Clint with a broken arm. And he was pissed. That was making it a little hard for the doctors on the helicarrier to set it. He was still running on adrenaline, which was making it hard for him to sit still. Natasha was there, holding him down by the shoulders so the poor medical staff could reset the bone.

He reached up with his good arm, gripping her shoulder as his bones were slid into place. He let out an inelegant grunt and dug his nails into Natasha’s skin. She hid her grimace, just as Clint had done so for her many times before. When the doctor was done, she offered to clean Natasha’s cuts, but she waved the other woman off and helped Clint back to his room. She knew there were more injuries that he’d hid from the medical staff. That’s what they did, let the doctors take care of the most serious, then disappeared to patch each other up and lick their own wounds in peace. Neither were overly fond of hospitals nor overly trusting of others, so it just made it easier for them to fix each other. Natasha had seen when a knife scraped his torso and had seen the way he was limping, so she knew there was more than the doctors knew about. 

Clint didn’t protest when Natasha led him to his bathroom and sat him on the edge of the tub. “Where?” she asked.

“Ribs,” Clint answered, no point in lying to her. Natasha made a vague motion with her hands that meant to take his shirt off. He struggled for a moment before she took pity on him and helped him out. His ribs were bruised an ugly purple and there were a few deep gashes near his sternum. Natasha wasted no time in cleaning the cuts, her hands delicately fluttering over his skin. He hissed when she started poking at his ribs, but she confirmed they were probably just bruised. 

“You’ll live,” she said, pulling away when she was satisfied she’d checked him completely. She helped him back into his bedroom, easing him onto his back. “Try not to do that again.”

“What, get my ass kicked?” Clint asked.

“It’s mine. Only I’m allowed to do that,” Natasha said. 

Clint snorted. “I’m pretty sure you’ve caused me worse injuries than this.” 

“Absolutely,” she said. She stood at the foot of his bed and played with the hem of her shirt. Clint’s eyes followed her hands as she teased them across the bit of skin showing between her shirt and jeans. “But I also have caused some of the better sensations, too, no?” She pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it behind her. A few bruises dotted her arms and a couple on her hips, but it didn’t seem to bother Clint if the look of pure look of lust he was giving her was anything to go by. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. 

Natasha crawled up the bed, nudging his legs apart as he went. Even while crawling, she exuded an elegant, predatory grace. She inched up his body, breasts rubbing over his erection. “Nat, you don’t have to-.” She cut him off with a swat to the thigh and an eye roll. 

“I know,” she said. “Like I’d ever feel obligated.” He smiled at that. Her body glided over his, avoiding his painful ribs, until she was hovering over him, eye to eye. Clint stared up at her, pale and glorious above him, and reached up, running hands up her smooth arms. He pulled her down to him and kissed her, hands clutching at her neck and tangling in her curls. It was one of those kisses that seared through them both, full of longing, fear, desire, and something deeper that neither of them were willing to talk about yet.

She pulled back with a gasp, lips red and swollen, and stared at him, eyes boring in his. She was sending everything she was into that look, offering up all she was to him. Then her grin grew wicked and she began to lick a trail from his collar bone, down his chest, and slid her body until her mouth was teasing his hip bones and inner thigh through his pants. It took only two seconds for her to pop the button and pull them down his muscled thighs. She looked back up at him right when she placed a kiss at the base of his cock.   
Clint groaned, leg twitching as he tried so hard to stay still. She slowly licked up his shaft, treasuring every sharp intake of breath and hiss that she drew from him. She teased him with a swirl of her tongue over his head before plunging down, taking his entire length into her mouth and throat. Clint bucked against her, groaning, but Natasha keep his hips still with a strong arm across his hips. He almost lost it right there. “Nat,” he choked out, but couldn’t manage anything more. Her mouth and tongue overwhelmed him, pushing him right to edge of sanity and right when he thought he’d fall right over, she stopped. 

When he opened his eyes, Natasha was stripping out of her pants and panties. His eyes raked over her body and it looked to her like he was marveling that she was real. She’d seen that look on him before, when he was either at her sexiest, or her deadliest. He looked shocked that for some reason, she let him feel her, let him touch the untouchable Black Widow and live. He got to run his hands over all that soft skin covering and the hard muscles hidden underneath. He got to feel her at her most vulnerable. And here she was, naked and straddling him, guiding him into her.

His face went blank when she sank down, her wet core tight around him. She hissed, throwing her head back and started to rotate her hips. She slowly moved above him, careful not to hit any of his bruises or injuries. He tried to thrust into her but she stilled him. “Let me do this for you.”  
This was for him, a little thank-you-for-being-relatively-in-one-piece, a distraction from the pain. Her back arched when she leaned back to brace herself against his thighs, and Clint was given a full view of her toned torso and breasts. His breaths were coming in shorter and shorter, gasping each time she impaled herself on him.  
“Nat,” he said, hands grasping at her thighs. “Nat, I can’t last much longer.”

“Then don’t,” she said, sultry voice sliding over him. That voice killed him. It wasn’t the cultivated, seductive voice she used on marks. This was the deep, raw voice of someone struggling to control themselves. She moved faster, taking him into her as hard and fast as she could. She dropped forward, arms on either side of him and whispered in his ear, “Fuck, Clint.” He almost held on, but then bucked and hit a particular spot inside her that had her moaning, “God yes, baby.” And that was that, hearing that roll off her tongue nearly killed him. Later, there would be marks on her skin where he’d gripped her so hard he’d left bruises and may have marked her when he bit into her shoulder, but right then she was busy working him through his sensory overload full of the smell of sex and her shampoo, the one she specifically bought in flat out refusal of Shield’s “bottles of sloppy crap”. He writhed when she slipped off of him and rolled to the side, careful of his injuries.

“Nat,” he said, breathless. “I’m sorry, you didn’t finish.”

“Shh,” she said, wicked smile still playing on her lips. Clint’s eyes followed Natasha’s hands as they slid down her torso until her fingers found her slick folds. She moaned, rubbing soft circles over her clit. Her free hand clutched at her breast, rolling her nipple between her fingers. Clint was so entranced, someone could have come in and shot him between the eyes before he even knew what was happening. She dipped a finger inside herself, then another, rubbing that spot inside her that made her pussy drip and breath hitch. She moved her hand faster, a mixture of her and Clint’s fluids running down her thighs. She had never told him, but she loved that feeling. She knew his medical files inside and out, knew he was clean and knew she was on birth control, and she’d said fuck it. The feeling of his come dripping out of her just turned her on in a way she’d never expected. She gasped, right on the edge, then Clint reached over, unable to help himself, and gently tweaked her nipple and massaged her breast. She moaned out his name and came faster than she’d expected, clutching at his arm and gasping in ecstasy.   
Eyes heavy, she turned to him with a lethargic grin. “How are your ribs?”

“Jesus Nat, for a second there, I forgot I even have ribs,” he said.

Natasha laughed, a sound he treasured whenever it happened, and pulled herself up. She retrieved her clothes from the end of the bed and began to get dressed.

“You don’t have to go,” Clint said, voice unsure, as if he was afraid she thought he was kicking her out right after she got his rocks off.

“I know,” she said over her shoulder. “But neither of us are exactly peaceful sleepers. I’d rather not punch you in the ribs or arm on accident.”

“Mm, fair enough,” he said, propping himself up on his uninjured elbow to lazily watch her put on her bra. “If this is the treatment I get when I’m injured, maybe I should get thrown out a window more often.”

“I’ll skin you alive,” Natasha said conversationally. She walked back to him, checking his injuries one final time. She knew he would call her if he needed anything, but still. Her fingers lingered a little longer than absolutely necessary on his chest, so much so that he traced the back of her hand with his fingers. 

“I’m okay, Nat,” he said softly.

She nodded, eyes still on his bruised chest. “Stay that way.” Natasha set a bottle of painkillers on his nightstand next to a bottle of water. “Don’t do manly, I’m a tough guy crap. Use them if you need them.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Clint said with a mock solute. 

Natasha rolled her eyes and made her way out, leaving him to heal in peace. As soon as he was well enough, she planned on giving him one hell of an ass kicking for letting a Hydra agent push him out of a building.

**4\. The fourth time was because they missed each other. That’s when it became more of an ongoing thing.**

Natasha had been on assignment for a long time. A long time. And since it was with Stark, it felt like it was even longer. Her considerable patience when it came to missions had been waning quickly when Fury finally pulled her out after the whole Whiplash incident. She’d had about a day of downtime before Coulson told her to make the trip down to the New Mexico base. He told her it was because he wanted her input on new security upgrades and to run a few newer agents through the gauntlet, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he was trying to reunite her with her partner. He was well aware that Hawkeye and the Black Widow worked best together and even more so, that they got a little bitchy to others when they spent a long time apart. She wasn’t arguing. 

When she got to the base, she had a few hours to kill before she had to start training the junior agents, so she went in search of Clint. She didn’t find him in what Selvig called his nest, the gym, or his room, so she headed to cafeteria. At least she could grab a bite before combat training, though she was peeved at not finding Clint so she pitied whoever she dealt with first. She was almost to the cafeteria doors when she heard the familiar cadence of his steps then a second later, the smell of him. As always, he smelled clean and fresh with just a hint of something darker. Before she turned around, she knew he saw her. There was a slight hesitation in his step, the kind no one but her would notice. He was halfway down the hall to her when they made eye contact. She had told herself that she wouldn’t jump him like an animal. She had promised that the months of built up sexual tension, of explicit, viciously passionate dreams, wouldn’t affect her when she saw him again. She cursed herself for being such a damn liar. It was some consolation that she was nearly a hundred percent sure that Clint was experiencing the same thing. Even from far away, she could see his pupils dilate and that vein in his neck give a little pulse. He shook off the agent walking with him and made his way down the hall to her.

“Nat,” he said, coming up to her. “Coulson didn’t tell me you were coming.” Natasha’s chest clenched in a way she wasn’t quite comfortable with at the familiar rumble of his voice. She didn’t even know she could have a physical reaction to a voice.

“He only called me yesterday,” she said. “The Stark thing ended early.”

“Yeah I heard about that,” Clint said. His eyes raked over her face and body in a way that might have seemed like he was blatantly checking her out, but she knew he was searching for any signs of injury.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Scariest thing I really had to deal with were some shabby rent-a-cops.”

“Sounds boring,” he said. “What’d they send you here for?”

“Junior agent bootcamp, basically,” she said. “And Coulson wanted me to take a look at the security upgrades, see if I catch anything they missed that someone like me could exploit.”

She could tell Clint, like her, wasn’t buying Coulson’s explanation for a second. From the slight grin and heat in his eyes, she also saw that he didn’t mind at all.  
“I think I have the new upgraded schematics in my room,” he said casually.

The corner of Natasha’s mouth quirked up and she nodded. “Lead the way.”

The walk to his quarters was interesting. Logically, she knew it would be the worst idea possible to just push him down and have her way with him right there, but that’s exactly where her mind was, courtesy of her overactive, super spy imagination. A possessive streak she didn’t know she had hit her at the thought of the potential of being seen, of everyone seeing her claim on him and vice versa. The line of heat his body was giving off, even from feet away, was burning a hole in her side. His hand twitched at his side, a very non-Clint gesture. By the time they were at his door, Natasha’s adrenaline was running high and there was a growing tension very low in her body. 

She followed Clint into his room and barely had the time to shut the door before he spun her around slammed her back into the wall. There was no seduction or teasing, just hands and mouths and tongues. It was Clint trying to drink Natasha in, like he could absorb her into himself, and Natasha wrapping herself in him so she’d never again have to forget that scent. Clint kissed her hard, one hand grasped her by the hair, the other running over her, rememorizing every inch of skin. Natasha’s hands, those hands that could   
so easily crush his windpipe, were tearing at his shirt and raking nails down his chest, yanking him closer. 

Months of longing and lonely nights exploded out of them. Clint’s hands were rough over her skin, sliding underneath her shirt and shoving her bra up over her breasts. He pulled his mouth away from hers, earning a protesting sound that quickly turned into moan when he moved his lips to her breast, mouthing at her nipples. She hadn’t been able to relax like this since she’d left for assignment. She could throw back her head, close her eyes, and allow herself pleasure, knowing that he was there and she was safe with him. He wasn’t a mark that might pull out a weapon, he wasn’t wanting her as a perk of a business transaction or as proof of loyalty like some targets, he just wanted her. He wanted her to be a writhing mess, unable to do anything but moan and scream and in the moment she could let herself go and take something that she wanted for herself.  
One of Clint’s hands wandered from her breast down to the wet fabric between her legs, massaging her through her jeans. He groaned when his fingers touched her, feeling just hot wet she already was for him. She knew he heard her breathing hitch and felt her arms tense around him, but she couldn’t care. In any other situation, Natasha would have been embarrassed to be so like a horny teenager, about to come from someone rubbing her through her clothes, but this was Clint and god, she’d missed him. Plus, she’d never gotten to be the stereotypical horny teenager, so she said fuck it. A light bite on her breast and the pressure between her legs became too much. She let herself fall into Clint as shocks of pleasure ran through her, his hand now warm and wet from her.

Still coming down, she tore his shirt off, flinging it away before getting to work on his pants. “Anxious, hm?” he asked against her ear, breath hot against her skin. She grunted against him in answer, palming him through his pants.

“You’re one to talk,” she murmured, rubbing her hand over his erection. His hissed and thrust his hips forward into her hands. She let out a huff of laughter and pushed his pants down his hips until he was standing in nothing but boxer briefs. Seconds later he was attacking her mouth again, greedily drinking down the eager noises that slipped out of her while blindly pulling her out of her clothes. It was like he needed to feel her skin on his now, to relearn her and forget the loneliness of the last few months. They stripped each other desperately, hands dragging over every exposed inch. 

Clint let Natasha drag him to his bed. She shoved him back onto the mattress, hard, climbing on top of him and attacking his mouth with hers. It wasn’t tender, but all tongue and teeth dragging on each other’s lips. Their past encounters hadn’t all been gentle, but this was beyond the previous level of rough. This was intense and brutal and pushed both of them to their absolute limits. Clint rolled them so he was on top, pressing Natasha’s smaller frame into the bed and all but attacked her neck with his mouth. Natasha just wrapped her arms around him, letting loose a high, keening noise that she would deny later. She may love to fight for control, but she didn’t exactly mind when he had it.  
A knee nudged its way between her thighs, pushing against her wet center. Natasha ground down on Clint’s leg, gasping at the possessive marks he sucked on her chest. Normally she’d make him stop, but a little animalistic voice in her head liked the idea of being marked. His hands were everything, running down her sides, cupping her breasts, everywhere but where she wanted them most.

“Clint,” she groaned. “Clint, come on…”

She felt him smile against her skin, his teeth scraping. He nudged against her harder, her soaked panties rubbing against his leg before he pulled away completely. Natasha made an involuntary noise of protest but then he was right back between her legs, mouth at the wet fabric. Brain scrambled, Natasha gave up all semblance of self control. Any other time, she’d have fought to keep aware, to keep her surroundings in mind, but all she cared about was Clint working at her with his mouth. It was Clint, Clint was safe, she could let go and he would be there to catch her. He yanked her panties off and attacked her, sucking on her clit and working a finger into her tight heat.  
When she was close, breaths ragged, she tugged Clint up by the hair and kissed him, chasing the taste of herself in his mouth. “Get in me,” she growled, “right now.” Clint groaned and grabbed her by the hips and flipped her, getting her on her hands and knees. Impatient sounds that Clint had never heard from her were falling from Natasha’s lips. She rotated her hips, grinding her bare ass against Clint’s erection. “Come on, come on.”

One of his hands rested on the base of her spine, the other yanking her closer until the head of his cock was at her entrance, probing her folds. She tried to fuck herself back onto him but he held her still and slowly pushed in, inch by inch, until he bottomed out. She was so wet already, her walls grasping at Clint like she could keep him in her. “Clint,” she growled. He gave the back of her neck a quick bite then pulled out just enough to slam back in. 

He picked up a punishing rhythm and she was sure her hips would carry bruises from his fingers for days. She was surprisingly on board with that. Someone was making loud, gasping noises that were almost sobs, and it took her a second to realize it was her. It’d been so long since she’d felt him, even been around him. It was like the more he pushed himself into her, the more bad stuff he pushed out, like it wasn’t possible for pain to be inside her while Clint was. 

She moaned loudly, not even caring that there could be people in the other rooms hearing them. Clint’s name fell from her lips in a chant each time she shoved her hips back to meet his thrusts. “Harder, Clint, I-“

He didn’t let her finish but pulled her up by her shoulders until they were both sitting up on their knees, him thrusting up into her. The angle change dragged his cock against her gspot and it was so, so good. One of his arms was wrapped around her chest, holding her to him, and the other wound down to let his fingers rub her clit, throwing her to the edge faster than she wanted to admit.

Natasha threw her head back on his shoulder, a clear invitation that he eagerly took her up on, latching his mouth to her neck. “Yes,” she gasped out. “Harder, please.” She’d never been exactly vocal in bed, and she had no idea where it was coming from, but by the choking noises Clint was making, it was doing something for him, too. She was tightening around him, body ready for release, when he bit down on her shoulder, just this side of drawing blood. That pushed her right over the edge, shouting Clint’s name one more time before she came, writhing in his arms. He followed right after, teeth still set in her skin with her walls squeezing around him. She could feel his dick pulsing inside her as he came and god, if that didn’t do it for her.

He dropped them to the bed, still inside Natasha as he settled them on their sides. His breath was short and harsh against the back of her neck and he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her to him. This wasn’t what they normally did. Usually there was a careful distance, a reassurance that their friendship and partnership wouldn’t suffer, that everything was the same. This was something Natasha hadn’t experienced. This was being held close like she was something that mattered, something that he was scared of losing. She gripped the arm around her, indicating that she wanted the touch. She might not have been able to say it, but Clint knew her, he knew her nonverbal cues and she knew he would understand exactly what she meant. He squeezed her tighter in response.

They stayed like that until their breathing and heart rates had settled into their normal patterns. Clint slipped out of her when Natasha rolled over to her back, just looking at him. He was more relaxed than she’d seen in awhile, the tight awareness he held around his eyes was gone and he looked content, pliant. He leaned over slowly, giving her enough time to move if she wanted to, and softly kissed her temple. Emotion welled inside Natasha, some that she wasn’t ready to own up to, but she was saved by her phone ringing somewhere on the floor.

She rolled out of Clint’s bed, well aware of her and Clint’s mixed fluids coating her inner thighs, to dig her phone out of her pants pocket.  
“Romanoff,” she said, slipping into her SHIELD-professional voice. “Yes. Yes. I’ll be there. I’ll tell him when I see him.” She turned to Clint when she hung up. “Thirty minutes until it’s time to scare the rookies,” she said with a smirk.

Clint laughed. “Try not to make anyone cry,” he said.

“I can’t promise anything.” She walked naked to the bathroom, leaving the door open and starting the shower.

The new trainees, of course, cowered in fear at the infamous Black Widow. She was in a better mood than normal though, so she thought they shouldn’t be so put out that four of them ended up with broken bones. They were just little ones, a few weeks recovery at most. She’d been going easy on them.

**5\. She’d lost track of how many times, but this one was because she needed to prove to him that nothing had changed, that he was still trusted.**

Of course everything had changed. His brain, his body had been hijacked by a war criminal alien. That was something you didn’t just get over. Right after Natasha had handed Bruce a bag with clothes and some files from the helicarrier lab (what Fury doesn’t know won’t hurt him), they’d driven off in the SHIELD car. They didn’t go far though, ditching it in a parking lot in a less savory part of the city and picking up one of the spare cars, cars without any tracking devices, they had stashed around the city. They left a note on the dashboard that read, _Vacation, call you later_ , just in case Fury thought they were defecting or something. 

They didn’t speak for the first few hours on the road. Clint had wanted to drive. Though he hadn’t said anything, Natasha could tell. She’d just tossed him the keys and situated herself in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard. Clint had raised an eyebrow but she’d just rolled her eyes. It was a 90’s Honda, like she could damage it. He didn’t say where he was going, but she didn’t really care. They both had their hideaways, their refuges for when they needed a break from the reality of what they did. He’d even seen one of hers once, a small apartment over a piano bar deep in the heart of New Orleans, after a particularly bad mission. He’d taken her to a cabin in a wooded part of Montana a few months later.

This time they drove north for a few hours, ending up at a small beach house thirty miles from the closest town. They hadn’t spoken for hours, though Natasha hadn’t really expected Clint to be exactly talkative. He had reached over blindly, almost panicky, once on the drive and gripped her wrist, like he was making sure she was real, that he wasn’t under Loki and his illusions. She reached out with her free hand and squeezed his arm back in a gesture she hoped was reassuring. Thankfully, it seemed to melt some of his tension. 

The beach house was well maintained, if a little dusty, and nestled in the middle of miles of forest. If she went out the patio door, Natasha would walk right into soft sand. It screamed of Clint, not cluttered, but obviously lived in with old books scattered and a few odds and ends that she was pretty sure were parts he’d removed from bows and arrows he’d modified. 

They were munching on Power Bars at the kitchen island when Clint cleared his throat and began to speak. “You know, er, you know that wasn’t me, right? Everything I did, it was Loki, he-”

“Of course I know,” she said, putting down the empty wrapper down and leaning her hip against the island. “Did you actually doubt that?”

“Not really,” he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. He kept his eyes down, studying the ground beneath his bare feet. Natasha secretly liked that little quirk of his, no matter how often she told him it wasn’t practical. Whenever he was in a place that was his own and safe, not his quarters on the helicarrier, but his personal safe houses that SHIELD didn’t know about, he always took his shoes off. Recently he started going barefoot at Natasha’s places, too. She told him it wasn’t smart, if they were to get attacked he wouldn’t be able to run well, but he’d just smiled whenever she said so. Now he was stalling though, tapping his toes in the way he did when he needed to organize his thoughts. She waited.

“It doesn’t make you see me- it doesn’t change how you see me, does it?” he asked, words very fast and close together like he didn’t want to ask and didn’t really want an answer.

“You want to know if I don’t trust you anymore?” she asked softly. “You really think this would change my opinion of you?”

Clint shrugged. “There was an alien in my mind. You can’t know what it might have left behind, or if something might crop up and it won’t be me anymore.” He wouldn’t look her in the eye and that just plain wasn’t okay. He’d made a point, since he found her in the very first place, to always keep eye contact when he spoke to her, sometimes intensely and disconcertingly, but it was how he always had been. 

Natasha nudged his foot with hers. He didn’t look up, so she did it again, harder this time until his eyes finally met hers. “Do you trust me less because of the Red Room?”

He looked genuinely surprised at that. “No! No, you know I don’t. That’s not you.”

“They still had their hands in my head. They programmed who I was and what I remembered. There were days after I left when I couldn’t do anything but sit with my head in my hands. I didn’t know if I was Natasha, or Natalie, or Nancy,” she said, voice carefully neutral against the memories. “I holed up in a shack in the Ukraine for a month until I was sure of who I was. And even then it still took years for to be sure that I hadn’t just picked an identity and decided to just make that me.”

“You never told me that,” he said. Slowly, like he wasn’t sure of his welcome, he covered her hand that was resting on the island with his. She didn’t flinch away, not that she ever would from him, but turned her hand and twined their fingers together. “Is that going to happen to me?” he asked after a few moments of just sitting like that.

“No,” she said immediately, no trace of doubt in her voice. 

“How do you know?” he asked.

“You’re stronger than I was,” she said simply.

Clint shook his head. “No, I’m not, Nat I’m-“

“You are stronger than I was,” she continued, speaking over him. “And you have me.”

Clint smiled slightly. “So humble.”

She gave a small smile back, relieved. “I didn’t have anyone who knew the real me, who could anchor me down to my identity. I know you, Clint Barton. And I’m going to help keep you, you.”

“And if I um, forget for a bit?” he asked, a thread of actual hope weaving his way into his voice.

Natasha placed a hand on his neck, rubbing her thumb against his jaw. His breath caught, lips parting in shock. She didn’t blame him; this was intimacy they hadn’t delved into much outside of undercover operations. It was an intimacy she hadn’t let herself even think about, but now she needed to do this, and Clint needed it, so she couldn’t think of a single damn reason to hold back. 

“I’ll remind you,” she promised. He leaned into her touch, his face close enough to hers that he could feel her breath ghosting against his cheek. “I am not letting you forget.”  
He nodded and leaned in, still hesitant, and bumped his nose against hers like he was asking for permission. He got it. She pressed her mouth to his, pulling him closer with their still entwined hands. It wasn’t their usual, biting and rough kiss. It was softer but by no means chaste. She delved into his mouth, coaxing, until he abandoned his caution and gave as good as he got. She almost didn’t realize he’d let go of her hand until his large hands were under her shirt, running down her sides like her skin was his own personal drug. Natasha pulled it over her head, revealing a black, lace-lined bra and miles of skin for Clint to explore. 

By now, he knew every inch of her body, every groove and scar, but he ran the pads of his fingers over each and every one of them anyway, like he needed to know it was really her under his touch. Natasha arched into him, hands winding around his shoulders, her nails scratching the nape of his neck and over his scalp. A rumble ran through his chest and he grabbed her by the waist, hoisting her up onto the kitchen island and situating himself between her spread thighs. He was pulled even tighter to her by her legs around his waist, those legs that were capable of killing a man in half a second but were now being used to keep him grinding against her. 

Natasha broke the kiss long enough to gasp out, “Bedroom, now,” before attacking his neck, nipping at the skin then soothing it with her tongue. He hissed and backed up so she had enough room to hop down. Taking his hand, Natasha tugged him out of the kitchen and into the back bedroom of the beach house. She stopped right inside the doorway to turn around and yank his face down to hers, bruising her lips on his. It wasn’t everything, but it was reassurance that he was the same in her eyes and the affirmation that they were alive, not entirely whole, but relatively intact. There had been a moment when she was sure she’d lost him for good; that even if his body still survived, his mind would belong to Loki.

“You’re here,” she whispered against is lips, her fingers clutched in the fabric of his shirt. He ran his palms up from her hips to her neck, cupping her face.   
“I’m here,” he confirmed. The mood shifted slightly, no longer as desperate as before and they took the opportunity to just look at each other. His eyes were roaming over her face in a way that made her want to squirm away, as if he was looking into her very core, almost reverently. “I’m not going anywhere.”  
He didn’t sound certain, like he still believed he might be whisked away from her at any second, but she’d take what she could get. She took his hand again, leading him to the bed. Before he could move to lie down, she tugged at the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head before dragging her fingers down his torso to the button on his jeans. Her eyes never left his, not when she dragged down the zipper of his jeans, or when she eased the pants off his hips, not even when she dipped her fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs. That snapped Clint to attention and he started on her pants, hands trembling. She wove her fingers next to his, helping him with the button so he could slide them down the curve of her hips, leaving her in nothing but her bra and panties.

“Natasha,” he breathed, his hands flexing on her hips. 

“I’ve got you,” she whispered back, pulling him with her onto the bed. 

As soon as they hit the mattress, they were all hands and teeth and lips. They hadn’t seen each other in months, and this was the first time they’d been alone long enough to truly be able to let go like they wanted. Their clothes ended up scattered around the room, neither of them caring much where they went. Clint ended up straddled by Natasha, mouthing at her breast while she ground down onto his erection. He sucked on her nipple, rolling it between his teeth and squeezed her other breast in his hand, gratified by the breathy gasps she was letting out. She was warm and wet, her core sliding over his cock, slicking him up. He pulled off her breast and groaned, involuntarily rutting up against her. 

“Natasha.” He whispered her name into her skin like a litany, like it was the only word he seemed to remember. 

“Shh,” she whispered into his mouth, kissing him once before slithering down his body, settling herself between his legs. Clint’s head fell back onto the pillows when she licked   
around the head of his dick, sucking it into her mouth, just teasing. She swirled her tongue down the length, loving the taste of herself mixed with him. Clint was the only person with whom she’d ever enjoyed doing this, the slow pleasure for pleasure’s sake. Maybe it was the way Clint’s hands tangled in her hair, not pushing her farther down, but pulling tight enough that she could feel it and revel in the end of pain. It also could be the little noises that slipped out Clint no matter how hard he tried to keep them back while his hips twitched, straining not to buck up into her hot, wet mouth. He twitched in her mouth when she ran her tongue over the thick vein on the underside of his dick.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. Fucking perfect for me,” he gasped out. She hummed around his cock in answer, swallowing around him when he bumped the back of her throat. She fluttered around him, making him his and pull up on her hair. “Stop, Nat you need to stop now or I won’t last.”

“Then don’t,” she said, voice rough.

He shook his head. “Need to be in you, please.”

She crawled up his body until she was hovering over him, eye to eye, full breasts brushing his chest. A roll of her hips positioned him right at her entrance, his head nudging her slippery folds. Her nose brushed up his jaw line until she got to his ear, licking the outer shell saying lowly, “Then get inside me.”

He thrust up into and rolled them at the same time until Natasha was on her back, legs reflexively wrapping around his waist. His face was buried in her neck, licking and sucking at her skin. She tilted her head to the side, baring more skin for him to nuzzle and lick. 

Her hips bucked up against his thrusts, trying to get him deeper into her. Nothing was taking Clint away from her. He was in her arms and god help whoever tried to pull him away. She wrapped herself around him, nails digging into the skin of his back, the muscles rippling under her touch. It was harder for him to pull back with her locked around him, but the short, harsh thrusts of his hips were more than enough for both of them. She ground up, rubbing her clit against him with each roll of her pelvis.

Clint bit down at the skin behind her ear, slipping a hand between them to rub gently at her clit in the way that made her whole body tighten and tingle. Natasha’s body was tightening, every muscle tense and waiting for release but she wasn’t sure she was ready. She and Clint weren’t even kissing anymore, just breathing into each other’s mouths over the slapping sound of skin on skin and smell of sex slowly filling her senses. His hands were everywhere, cupping her face, down her toned arms, circling her waist with his thumbs rubbing circles onto her hips. 

Normally, Natasha would be happy to reciprocate and map every muscled inch of his body, but she couldn’t bring herself to unwrap her arms. She just wanted to clutch him to her, because if she didn’t he might float away. There were red lines on his back where her nails had dug in, but he didn’t seem to care, so she didn’t move them.  
His rhythm started to falter, hips stuttering, and he massaged her clit faster as he always did, trying to get her off first. Natasha arched her back and Clint took the invitation, taking a mouthful of her breast into his mouth and sucking harshly and that was it, the shock of pleasure spreading out through her groin and tingling up her spine. There was a loud scream and it took her a second to realize that was her, her entire body spasming as she rode out release.

Clint fucked her right through it, chasing his own pleasure with his forehead pressed under her chin while she clenched around shook around him. When he came, he was silent. He just stilled inside her, the arm that wasn’t holding him up was gripping tightly at her ribs, shaking like he wasn’t even aware of it. All the energy seemed to leave him at once and he all but collapsed on top of her, keeping his head to her chest, close to her heart. Natasha didn’t mind, she could easily take his weight, and started carding her fingers through his hair just like he did to her when she woke up, unsure of who she was. They were both breathing harshly and were covered in sweat and other fluids, but Natasha was perfectly content with Clint cradled to her chest.

They stayed like that for a long time, until the sun slowly started making its way below the horizon. Clint had stayed buried in her until he’d gone soft, slipping out with a small trickle of his cum. He had figured out at some point how much she liked the reminder of Clint inside her and tended to indulge her. When it got dark enough that it was getting   
hard to see, Natasha finally broke the silence. She traced her fingers over his cheekbones before speaking. 

“Where are you?” she asked quietly.

“I’m here,” he said, pressing a kiss to her chest before sitting up. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was something of a mantra they’d both used with each other, because there was no easy way to ask, ‘hey, are you reliving all your worst nightmares?’

“Good,” she said. She curled her hand around his where it was resting on her thigh. These intimacies, these casual touches outside of sex, were still exciting and with what had happened, Natasha wasn’t exactly in the mood for denying herself something she wanted, especially something so simple.

“I’m not exactly going to be a thrill to deal with for awhile,” Clint said quietly. 

“I’m shocked to my very core.”

He rolled his eyes and nudged her shoulder with his. “I’m probably going to forget, or doubt what’s real.”

“I’ll convince you,” Natasha said.

“There’ll be nightmares.”

“Probably.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t sleep next to each other then. I’m – I should take the couch. I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, trying very hard to sound matter-of-fact. 

Natasha said, “No.”

“No? Nat, I don’t know if I’m going to wake up swinging or try to stab whoever’s near me-“

“I just fought off thousands of giant, crunchy aliens with my hands, two guns, and their magic stick weapons. I think I can handle a half-asleep, flailing, 180lb man,” she said, raising a condescending.

“Hey, 200lbs, thank you,” he said.

“Imaginary muscle doesn’t count, Clint.”

“You’re crushing my dreams.”

“We both know you’re too stubborn to be crushed under anything,” she said.

He just looked over her face for a minute, eyebrows furrowed in concentration before he finally smiled. It was still a little pained and pinched, but it was genuine so she counted it as a win.

The next few days went about the same as the first. They’d eat, fuck, laze around a bit, and enjoy the warm sand. Clint sometimes retreated into himself, like Natasha knew he would. She also knew when he needed to be alone with his thoughts, and when he needed to be dragged out, when his solo walks into the woods went on a little too long or his face was a little too blank. Sometimes, she chose climbing into his lap as the best way to distract him. Sometimes, spraying him in the face with the kitchen sink spray nozzle. She preferred the first option but hey, variation is the spice of life.


End file.
